


Sparks

by cellard00rs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Humor, M/M, Romance, Season/Series 01, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finally sleeps with Sarah but finds it a disappointment. Sherlock tries to help him solve the mystery of why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever written something a long time ago, hid it away on your computer, forgotten about it, rediscovered it, dusted it off and decided to post it? Well, that's what this is! Therefore, no spoilers for the new series!
> 
>  

John felt slightly foolish sneaking back into his own flat (he was practically tip-toeing) but he was rather hopeful that, maybe if he was quiet enough, he could avoid seeing and/or talking to Sherlock.

Sherlock would be awake. Of course he would be awake. It may have been three in the morning but he would be _awake_. He would either be lying on the sofa or embroiled in some research or laboring over some experiment but he would most certainly be awake. And if he was awake and he saw John…

John just couldn't take the observations. Not now.

So he was trying his very best to sneak in unnoticed, closing the front door behind him almost soundlessly, edging towards the stairs as silent as a shadow, when:

"Ah, John!"

He failed.

John deflated as Sherlock, who had indeed been lounging on the sofa, rose to his feet and, as John feared he would, looked him up and down before immediately assessing the situation, "You've finally consummated your relationship with Sarah."

John let out a weary sigh, "Yes."

Sherlock's head tipped thoughtfully to one side. He wore his overly expensive dressing gown, plain shirt and bottoms, looking like someone who _should_ be in bed but, as infuriatingly as always, was not, "You're not happy with this turn of events?"

John, for his part, wore his normal attire but it had been tossed on haphazardly - his trousers and shirt terribly wrinkled and he _knew_ how he looked as he rubbed at his eyes, "It's not…that. Exactly."

"Oh?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Very well." Sherlock offered easily enough and turned, more than prepared to return to his position on the sofa. John was dumb struck. It wasn't like Sherlock to _not_ press for details. John had anticipated a long, painfully awkward discussion and now that it appeared as if it wouldn't take place he found himself feeling…disappointed?

Which made absolutely no sense.

Still, now that Sherlock had given him leeway to not talk about it, John found that that was all he _did_ want to talk about as he leaned back against the front door, speaking up, "It's just…we're over. Sarah and I."

Sherlock turned back, walked closer to John again, "Indeed? Odd. I thought once a couple engaged in intercourse that cemented their relationship, not ended it. Was it that bad?"

"It wasn't _bad._ " John stressed, heat creeping up the back of his neck, eyes avoiding Sherlock's, "It just…wasn't good."

"Why not?"

"I don't..."

"Do you believe you are to blame? Or was it something on her part that was not satisfactory?"

"We both did _fine_." John snapped defensively, "We just…it wasn't…something was missing."

"Missing?"

John hummed in agreement.

"Good lord, she's _missing_ parts?"

"What? No!"

"She appeared perfectly put together the first time I saw her but that doesn't mean that under her clothes she is not absent of certain key components needed in the act of intercourse."

"Sherlock, she-Christ! She had _everything_ , all right? It wasn't something physical! It was something mental! The mind is just as much a part of sex as anything else and it wasn't…it was like," John felt the heat that had been creeping up the back of his neck take over his whole face and he felt as if he was glowing red, "it was like we were just acting something out. It didn't mean anything. It didn't _feel_ like anything. It was all…going through the motions. Like brushing your teeth or taking out the garbage and it was…disappointing. We both felt it. We both agreed on it afterwards."

Sherlock let that sink in, then, "You're saying the feeling was what was missing?"

"Yes. There was no," John struggled for a word, "Spark."

"Spark?"

"Yeah. I mean," John breathed in deeply, ran a hand through his hair as he spoke more to himself than anything, "I felt it when we first met. That spark, that connection but…dunno. I mean, we had our first date - all Black Lotus and peril and then a couple more times after that and few kisses that were fair enough but then, tonight," he shrugged, "The sex was short and quick and there…wasn't much to it. No sparks. So, we've decided to settle on being friends."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Yeah." John said once then, more firmly, "Yes, yes, I am okay with it. Because I _do_ like Sarah. She's a wonderful person - warm, funny…I want to keep talking to her and spending time with her, maybe even occasionally go out with her. But, you know, not-not as a couple."

"So, unattached again?"

"That's right." John said and then he suddenly noticed that Sherlock was closer to him, the taller man sort of crowding him up against the door. John cleared his throat but Sherlock did not take the hint, instead asking, "What exactly is the 'spark'?"

"The-the spark?"

"Yes. How would you define it?"

"Oh. Uh. I don't…it's just…something you feel? Like…chemistry."

Sherlock's eyes darted from side to side as he thought about this and John continued to try and clarify it, "You know…chemicals between people or well, mean not to say _chemical_ chemicals but, I mean you _must_ know about attraction. Lots of murders built around that, I'm sure. Adrenaline, endorphins, testosterone."

"You're saying this is what makes the spark?"

"Strictly speaking, no, but something _like_ that I'm sure…"

Sherlock looked thoughtful at this, "I've always thought the idea of relationships - romance, boyfriends, girlfriends - to be unbearably dull but, I must admit, I do find this to be intriguing."

John swallowed, uncomfortable not only because was Sherlock unnervingly close but also because he had a rather mischievous look about his face, "Why do I get the feeling you're planning some kind of awful experiment?"

"What kind of experiment could I possibly be planning, John?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're going to try to find some components that cause a surge in hormones, put them in a blender, and hit frappé or something."

"Why on earth would I do that?"

"You tell me, you're the one who seems fixated on this whole 'spark' business. I was merely trying to explain why this evening's, ah, activities didn't go well."

Sherlock was eyeing John with a kind of scrutiny that made him want to squirm. Finally, "Have you ever felt this spark before?"

"Yes. Obviously. I've been in a relationship before."

"The sparks started these relationships, then?"

"Yes."

"But then they've ended. Thus the sparks die."

"Sort of. Either for me or for her. Not like tonight when it was a mutual thing, but, then there is obviously still something there if we're going to remain friends. Sometimes these things get cross wired. Maybe the spark I felt for Sarah was friendship all along and that's why, romantically, things didn't pan out."

"Romantically or sexually?"

"Both." John said much too quickly for his own liking, so much so that he winced at it, offering gently, "Not that that's her fault. Or mine. It just…wasn't something that was meant to be, I guess."

The mischievous look that John had noted earlier had not left Sherlock's face as he raised his left hand and pressed it to the door to one side of John's head. John felt himself involuntarily backing his body further against the door, the wood unyielding, the entire act highly fitful as Sherlock asked softly, "How do you know if something is meant to be?"

"You," he tried to be nonchalant, to laugh it off but his laugh came out high, threadbare, _giggly_ , "you're getting awfully philosophical tonight."

"It's not night. It's morning."

"Right." John breathed and, finding himself unable to meet Sherlock's eyes, closed his own as he tried to center himself because he felt…odd, "Right."

"You didn't answer my question."

"There's…no real answer."

"I see."

"It's…it's like with chemistry and chemicals and sparks and," John knew he was babbling as he forced himself to open his eyes and really, this was all ridiculous because there was no way what he thought was happening was happening, "and-and it's all really rhetorical."

"What if I was to make the questions simpler? More focused? Would you be able to answer then?"

"I…don't know."

"How did you want tonight to feel, John? How did you want it to go?"

John's eyes had finally locked with Sherlock's and he heard words coming from somewhere. He had the sinking suspicion they were coming from his own mouth, "I told you…I wanted to feel…something."

Sherlock smiled and it was unlike any smile John had ever seen him wear, this one almost wolfish, "Sparks."

"Y-yes."

"John?"

"Yes."

"I have a confession to make."

"O-oh?"

"I am planning an experiment on the information you have provided me."

"A-are you?" John wished he'd stop stuttering, he wished his heartbeat would slow down, he wished he couldn't feel the warmth coming off Sherlock's body, and, more than anything, he wished he couldn't smell the minty toothpaste Sherlock had obviously used recently, his mind hysterically questioning why a man who barely slept brushed his teeth as if he was planning on going to bed and oh, oh, _bed_ why did he have to think of _beds_ when he was in this kind of predicament?

Sherlock seemed greatly amused as he whispered, "You're nervous."

"I am not."

"There's no reason to be nervous."

"I told you I'm-"

"Am I to take it my close proximity is causing the 'spark' you spoke of earlier? Do you feel a rise in adrenaline, endorphins, testosterone?"

"I can't _feel_ my hormones rise."

"My studies of male anatomy would argue against that point."

John licked his lips, tried to inject his voice with some strength, "Sherlock..."

"Shh." Sherlock's face came closer to his own and John yanked his head swiftly, knocking it against the door loudly as he gasped with alarm, "Wh-what are you doing?"

Sherlock's right hand rose up, cupped John's face gently, steading him, "Hold still."

Then he kissed him.

John was a grown man. He had been to Afghanistan. He had been shot. He had killed a man in cold blood. As such, it was more than a little obnoxious to discover that his knees were trembling and threatening to no longer support his weight as he was kissed by his flatmate, the world's only consulting detective.

Sherlock's lips were soft against his, slightly parted, moist with invitation, chaste to a point that was so utterly opposite of the man's character that it seemed shocking. Being such an innocuous kiss, John found himself drawn into returning it, mouths clinging tenderly, warmly, a drugging, longing meeting that somehow seemed much worse than if it had been a fierce, lascivious gesture.

But then, then, it grew deeper, hungrier, as Sherlock's head titled to one side, lips parting, tongues meeting and John groaned as spidery sensations began to dance up his skin, making his scalp prickle, his skin breaking out in goose bumps. He would hate the fact that he was reacting like a teenage boy receiving his first proper snog if it wasn't for Sherlock's ever increasing actions distracting him from such thoughts, his tongue now slick against John's, hands having gone from John's face and the door respectively to comb through his hair, ruffling it between his fingers.

John wanted to question how a man who was entirely social inept could be such a fantastic kisser. He didn't even seem the slightest bit rusty. It was as if he kissed people - and specifically _John_ \- every day with all the skill he was displaying. Maybe it was something that he had cultivated from previous experience or, more likely, experiments and John felt an irrational stab of jealousy at the idea of Sherlock doing this with anyone else.

Regardless, Sherlock was more than qualified at what he was currently doing as he began gently sucking on John's bottom lip; mouth hot as he gave the tiniest nip of teeth and John refused to believe that his eyes had almost rolled into the back of his skull at that feeling. But then all the air in his body was taken from him as he shifted, moved so that his own thighs slid apart, one of Sherlock's easing smoothly between his, and one of his own between Sherlock's, and the pressure that had been building in his groin grew that much better.

More so, when Sherlock pulled back to get better leverage, his leg rubbing and pushing while he tilted his head to suck at John's neck and John couldn't help but mentally grimace at the high, needy sound that escaped him. Then Sherlock was fully drawing away and the protesting whine that left him was so much _worse_ as Sherlock asked, "Is this what you wanted?"

"Huh? What?" John panted, glazed eyes that he had been unaware he had even closed opening to try and focus on Sherlock.

"With Sarah. Is this how you wanted it to feel?"

John heard the question and part of him understood but the rest couldn't even begin to comprehend it. He took a deep breath, trying to concentrate, "I," he couldn't seem to find any other words past that one, his gaze locked on Sherlock's lips which were now rosy, swollen from kissing and Christ, he wanted _more_.

Sherlock, however, was not to be deterred, "Is this a bit good, a bit not good?"

"Good!" John said so enthusiastically that he wanted to kick himself, his next reply a little cooler, "Mean, it's…fine."

Sherlock wore that the smug, half inward smile that John knew all too well as he whispered, "Sparks, then?"

John wanted to say it was more like a wildfire, waiting to consume him, but Sherlock was gloating enough as it was, so he merely nodded as his own hands rose up, curled in the material of Sherlock's dressing gown to draw him back, eager to resume their kissing.

Sherlock was slightly resistant, however, instead choosing to suck at the spot where jawbone met earlobe before he breathed, "What do you feel maintain sparks better - meltingly slow, sensual contacts or the more heated, mindlessly wild variety?"

That was it - John had died.

There was no other possible explanation.

Or he had fallen into an alternate universe.

Or maybe Sherlock had finally lost his mind.

Or John had.

 _That_ was it. He had gone _insane_. That made sense. More sense than what Sherlock was possibly hinting at…

Unless…

"This is just some…experiment, isn't it? You're…using me?"

"One _could_ argue you're using me."

"Sherlock, I'm serious."

"So am I."

John licked his lips, eyes narrowing and he was one second away from pushing Sherlock off when the other man kissed him, voice low, and husky, "I would be lying if I said I was not gathering information from this encounter. However, I will admit there is more to this than pure scientific curiosity."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to return to our earlier activities. I was finding your reactions highly stimulating."

John felt dizzy at that revelation as Sherlock returned to not only kissing him again but also to undoing the buttons of his shirt. Swift, deft fingers playing along his chest, thumbs rubbing his nipples to hardened peaks before traveling lower, making short work of John's trousers and he paused a moment, genuinely startled as he stated, "You lack underwear."

John had the decency to be embarrassed, "It was…awkward at Sarah's. After. So, um…I may have…left them there. In my haste to leave."

Sherlock shrugged, lifting one hand near his mouth, saying against it, "Fair enough," before his tongue bathed the skin, licking it completely from his wrist to the tips of his fingers, making it perfectly wet before settling it over John's length, gripping him firmly in hand.

John's skull met with the wood of the door again as he cursed, his breath hitching at the contact, blood throbbing, body arching upwards into Sherlock's touch. Sherlock's free hand drew John closer to his own body as he started to stroke John's cock from base to tip, squeezing with the kind of pressure that made John release yet another disconcerting noise - this one bordering precariously close to a whimper.

It was already bad enough that his hands were scrabbling inelegantly along Sherlock's back and shoulders, threading through the curls of his hair as his hips began rhythmically canting upwards into each stroke of Sherlock's fingers.

Not that Sherlock was helping.

Bloody, egotistical bastard.

Having now revealed himself to not being completely unskilled when it came to sex, he seemed to derive great pleasure in urging John on, hot breath panting against his neck, placing kisses now again but worse, much worse, he kept _saying_ things to him. Dirty, wonderful, arousing things and John knew he was close.

Twice in one night. It had been so long since… _twice in one night_ …lord, he wasn't some hormonally infused teenager anymore but it didn't matter. He was going to come and this; this was going to be different than it had been with Sarah. Instead of a relatively soft glow of release this was going to be explosive, this was going to be fireworks and sparks and…

And _fuck_ , Sherlock whispering to him in that dark, mellifluously deep voice, "That's it, John…you feel so good in my hand. So hard, so full, just aching for this, hmm? This is what you wanted, wasn't it? This is what you want to feel. _This_. You don't even know what you do to me, do you? Making me want you…"

And this last bit, said with a strange mixture of guilt and accusation, made something in John's stomach twist, voice cracking as he moaned, "Jesus _fuck_ , Sherlock…"

"Don't think he does," Sherlock said but his voice was halting as he confessed, "But I want to…want to _fuck_ you, John…"

"Sherlock…"

"Right through this door…"

John could only answer with a mangled cry as Sherlock gasped, "Yes, yes, that's it…let go…let go…" as he did just that, spilling himself wetly between them and he felt himself rocking upwards until he was drained, until there was nothing left to give, his whole body wrung out.

He slumped back against the door, trying valiantly to catch his breath. Sherlock's hand fell away from him at last and he drew off his dressing gown, using it to clean them both and John wanted to express how he hated to see him damage such fine material but he was still at a complete loss for words.

In fact, he wasn't sure he would be able to string together a proper sentence ever again. Sherlock seemed capable, though certainly not as efficiently as usual as he asked shortly, "Correct, then?"

John managed to at least make a questioning sound.

"That was what you wanted to feel? There was nothing missing? There were sparks?"

"God, yes." John gasped, the ability to speak finally returning to him, "That was…something more than sparks. That was…"

"Something meant to be?" Sherlock ventured.

John's lips twitched, "Bit romantic for you."

"Nonsense. I am merely going off the descriptions you provided earlier."

John merely hummed in response, still basking in the afterglow, eyes narrowing as a thought occurred to him, "So, I make you want me?"

Sherlock frowned, "What?"

"You said, when you were, um-" John chose to skip the details, going for the heart of the matter, "You said I had no idea what I did to you. That I _made_ you want me."

Sherlock avoided looking at him, "I had rather hoped the oncoming orgasm had rendered you temporarily deaf."

"It didn't."

"Well, all the same, I merely said what I needed to in order to assist you towards your end."

John shook his head, smiling wistfully, "A negative consequence of us knowing each other as long as we have is that now I can tell when you're lying."

"Don't be idiotic, John, it doesn't suit you."

"Sentimentality doesn't really suit you, but you certainly tried it on a few moments ago."

"I did no such thing."

"You loathe being repetitive yet asked me repeatedly if I felt sparks between us. And then there was your lightly interrogating me as to whether or not what I felt happened between us was meant to be and whether or not I liked it, which, in and of itself, reflects the sort of selflessness far removed from your character."

"Are you finished?" Sherlock scowled, though, honestly, John thought of it more as pouting. And, in the oddest way, it was fetching. So much so that John pressed a quick kiss to his lips, "For now. Though, to ease your troubled mind, I will say that, given recent events, it is possible that I not only cross wired my feelings for Sarah but for you as well."

Sherlock looked interested at this, "Yes?"

"Yes."

"Friendship wise, romantic wise, or sex wise?"

John grinned gleefully, hands going for Sherlock's waist, drawing him close as he said, "What happened just now…it was what I wanted," he paused momentarily one hand sliding from Sherlock's hip to the waistband of his bottoms, easing them back to slide a palm downward, taking the other man's erection, "Almost."

The look of shock that briefly passed over Sherlock's face would have John crowing triumphantly for at least a week. But that would be later.

Much, much later.


End file.
